So many labels
So many versions of this same conformity
Why can't we just be who we want to be
And leave the details up to me

To you, the ground beneath my feet
Every step I take,
you support me.

You stand with me,
in my times of trouble

I am warmed by your embrace,
as I become entranced in your outfit of lace.

Nothing could be more finely crafted,
than my connection with you.

The ages may wear on you,
yet you remain the only one
my sole longs for.

For you truly are...
My favorite pair of shoes.

For the first time in a long time,
I can say that I feel free from expectations,
free from limitations,
and myself.
I can feel the seasons changing,
and it's been a while since
I've seen the surface.
Felt the sun kiss my skin
and heard the wind whistle melodies
as it grazed my ears
on the way to the mountains.
The whole world is aching –
I know, but the rain never cared.
It reflects a time
when man was primal;
before he had a right to fear.
The rain whispers to me, 'I love you.'
I love you,
and I am not afraid.

(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.

life can be so cruel life can be so blind
life can drive you crazy make you lose your mind.
life can lead you straight. life can you lead you blind
life can be a burden life can be unkind

life can make you happy life can make you sad
.life can make you angry. it can make you mad
life is your begining in life you have to start
life is the ending when from the world you part.

The Endeavors of Lips
by Michael R. Burch

How sweet the endeavors of lips—to speak
of the heights of those pleasures which left us weak
in love’s strangely lit beds, where the cold springs creak:
for there is no illusion like love ...

Grown childlike, we wish for those storied days,
for those bright sprays of flowers, those primrosed ways
that curled to the towers of Yesterdays
where She braided illusions of love ...

"O, let down your hair!"—we might call and call,
to the dark-slatted window, the moonlit wall ...
but our love is a shadow; we watch it crawl
like a spidery illusion. For love ...

was never as real as that first kiss seemed
when we read by the flashlight and dreamed.

Published by Romantics Quarterly and The Eclectic Muse (Canada). Keywords/Tags: Childhood, children, bed, bedtime, story, flashlight, kiss, goodnight, dreams, pleasures, lips, fantasy, illusion